Where We Spend Our Hours
by KatesMom
Summary: Balthier and Fran have spent hours together but what goes on and really off? And will a new mission change things? From baths to naps to changing the world these to will discover the right place to be within themselves and with each other.
1. A Good Laugh

Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Period.

**I. A Good Laugh**

It was quiet on the ship, such silence a mystery. Anticipating things that come, words that aren't spoken or just can't be heard. Hmmmm, almost careful, planned nothingness. Awful silence was. Navy it seemed, then indigo soon it would be black as most ends turn. He gazed at a sky without stars. Gazing was mostly looking at everything or nothing, it lacked specificity. Yet nothing without everything was something, but to fuss with some fancy explanation seemed rather pointless. Things existed because they did he was a strong believer in that. By the mourning they would be in Rabanastre, all that treasure in the palace made his heart sing, the melody a familiar tune with a syncopated rhythm and a staccato violin intensified at this moment, he could almost hear a trumpet, angels maybe using their little lungs to make his song of smiles. Why did he crave it, what did he need? Sauvé he was with decent digs and some lovely treasures and sure he had the gorgeous girl but really it was the adventure he craved…and maybe…He walked away from the window. Steps light to the floor but heavy in a mute room. He felt sentimental quite captivating yet nauseating, he paused hoping he would hear steps and she would tell him not to trouble himself with such vicarious thoughts. But she did not and he could not help but be disappointed. Disappointment was for the weak and the poor and the young, none of those things he was except maybe young depending how one looked at it.

He approached the cabins through their intermittent corridors. He absent mindedly ran his index finger up and down the lobe of his ears, one could say jaundice laced his throat and stuck to its walls like glue as his feet led him to his room. It was large, at the moment unhappily and unusually large, its enormous size disturbed him. Large enough really to fit four Humes comfortably but of course _she _liked her privacy. The leveret she was, choosing the small storage room beside it too make her space. He now scoffed at he careful words "This will suit just, I shall not intrude on your space". He fancied that memory just a bit now seeing himself slightly younger, hair admiringly longer and skin a little too tan stand with a determined face tell her repeatedly that his room was quite empty and put on his best pout with innocent eyes claiming to be a sad and lonely boy. They could tell each other tales and night. She just walked away not paying much mind to him "Silly boy, that will not be necessary". To think when he first met her he was not a day over eighteen, how time really does fly.

He had not been in Fran's room more then a few undoubtedly short times but from what he recalled it was quite plain, almost sad. He had never walked through her door unless asked. From the beginning the two established without trust their might as well be nothing between them. His room was a little more as he would say "Bright". Many jeweled chandeliers, trinkets gold coins and mystic herbs filled the room as well as upscale clothing with silver laced chains and bronze armor littered the floor. He looked into a grand mirror its glass just polished from its old location in a Countess's bathroom from Nalbina, the broader graciously lined with opals and sapphires. He smiled at his reflection, seducing himself. "Oh Balthier you are quite the Stallion". He could see her roll her eyes in her sleep. Oh funny she was, the most remarkable creature. At first he assumed she wasn't feeling well but then maybe she was just tired. After four years with her she still left him with more questions then he had begun with. Here she slept for only a mere two hours per night and this particular eve, she wishes to sleep at half past nine, almost comically strange. He let out a small vile snort which caused him to explode with a manic guffaw and before he knew it he unintentionally spun him self in a complete web of giggles. He could hardly breathe; he clutched his side in agony as he fell to his bed his laughter filling the air ship like frantic lapping waves. Aaaaaaaahh how refreshing, what fun to crave ones sound of joy. His body rattled, it frayed at its mere edges in fiery flames. The corners at his mouth begging for forgiveness, about to rip at their seems. The beauty of good humor astounded him, he could hardly stand himself. He laughed as loud as his lungs could handle the bones in constant torment ready to break like glass and it was gleeful. He had completely forgotten what had started this escapade and wasn't surprised when he found he didn't care.

"Balthier!!!!!!!!"

With that he fell off his bed into a ghastly lamp hitting his head on the corner of a gold painted table. His mouth open wide and dumb, his head throbbing. He could feel the vein pumping loudly in his skull, the noise devilish, his head would spilt in two he was sure of it. His chest panted rapidly and his lips were quite dry, legs in a tangle and arms still regaining feeling from the unexpected fall. He felt blood trickle above his right eyelid. Slightly helpless. All very unattractive.

And there she was. Beautiful, a Giselle. Lips pursed like baby tulips and nostrils flaring. Oh what desire he had for, the weakness so overwhelming! How ridiculously mad he felt, wonder filled his eyes, the left one, had begun to swell. So she had raised her voice, actually to correctly state it she had yelled at him. Loudly, fiery, full of anger, annoyance and emotion. Oh how marvelous.

She wore nothing but a pale grey bed sheet around her russet colored torso. He had once asked if all Viera slept in the nude. She had replied she preferred it, always clever how she never really answered his questions. Her white hair flew around her crazed, it had a mind of its own, floating. Her eyes were bulging, she looked enticingly psychotic. So unlike her to raise her voice. How admiringly odd he found it. He lusted for this new found beast.

And now the two gaze, locked hard. An unbroken caged forced field. Rancorous and divinely focused.

He knew she was waiting for him to speak. Her unexpected outburst seemed to have frightened her. She was to terror stricken and confused to say a word. She wanted to scold herself but she was not sure why. For someone who usually spoke laconically with careful syllables almost vigilant phrases she had more then baffled herself with her ardor hostility. But as always with her emotions she did well to mask her perplexity.

He decided it just might be a good idea to think before he spoke. Now to remind himself how to think oh yes it was something one does before one acts. Was he procrastinating or could he really not know what to say. His head was murder but he ignored it, this was far too intense and appetizing to ignore. But he must speak for there she was playing hard to get with fire and ice. Pools swimming with something false, it turned him on, strong feelings of amatory towards her. A statue, craved of elegance beyond imagination, in nothing but an old silk sheet and him in pain on the floor.

It could be interesting…

"Ferocity is quite lovely on you"


	2. Remember For One

II. Remember For One

"Ferocity is lovely on you."

His words sounded mischievous and dirty in his own ears. This was weird and yet so very familiar almost, comfortable. There was now a song intertwining like vines inside his ears, a song without words, don't listen to hard. Fran sighed and rolled her eyes, kneeling in front of him. One eyebrow lifting, examination in floating in eyes so vitreous. She frowned then disappeared. He could use an exceptionally large drink now.

Oh but his head how it ached. He relaxed himself into the floor, lying down and starring at the ceiling, the rubbied chandeliers from a shop in Nalbina. Were they swaying? The gold made him think of wealth, swaying wealth, on ceiling, a cranberry color, lovely ceiling, so nice the ceiling he loved to starring mmmm sleepy...what the hell was he doing. He felt awful tired as that Seeq had slipped some Bhujerba Madhu in his drink. He knew he shouldn't have stopped at that bar but he had a rather active bladder.

Fran reentered the room wearing a petite white nightgown. It was the finest silk and fit like a second skin on her lanky body. It had sharp dip right in between her breast lined with lace and pearls, not like he was looking. Her nude sleeping habits provided not much use for it but she had worn it a few times just to make him happy and happy it made him. Her white hair rippling about her waist with no ties or restraints. A perfect fit for his he thought. He remembered now purchasing it as a Christmas gift for her falling all those years ago...

_"What do you mean you don't celebrate Christmas?" A youthful look of innocuous wonder on his face._

_"I suppose we are content with being one with the wood."_

_"Humph, well that m'lady is what I call a big pile of crap."_

_And there was that familiar look she gave, blank stare of boredom and patience, funny now to see the changeless expression._

_He took a large gulp of his wine._

_"Now I know you detested the winter but I figure we splurge munificently on goods and have some ridiculously expensive drinks and get so intoxicated neither of us can stand." He had a salacious look of excitement and his knavish eyes twinkled with delight._

_Fran always the talkative gave him another blank stare followed by a putative exhale. _

_"Oh come on Fran it'll be fun! We can dance to those horrific carols and play hard to get with all the losers who get wasted in the bars. Don't tell me this isn't every free Viera's unfulfilled dream. Wait! Wait! You know what I have an idea...erm...aha! We have a contest, whoever gets the most people to buy them drinks gets to be the others servant." He put his hands high above his head his mouth in a serious twist. "I swear, I swear I won't cheat, I mean you can't even cheat at this! Fran?...Oh come on!"_

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_After that little speech he had managed to drag her out to a bazaar where he explained in great detail that he would buy her a gift and she would buy him one. This is what happens on Christmas. When perplexed she asked why Humes did this and he explained easily "Well you for many reasons, to give and receive, and well there's that bit about peace on earth and you know every ones greedy."_

_He bit his lips intensely contemplating his purchase, hmm emerald earrings from Raithwallls Tomb, were her ears pierced?_

_"Well then why the lights and trees, the bright colors-_

_Exasperated and slightly annoyed at her failure to recognize his good dead he cut her off_

_"Darling please just go away and buy me a gift."_

_Her lips and eyebrows tightened but she solemnly walked away._

_"You try my patience Balthier."_

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_The bar was crowded with the usual holiday misfits. Crying ladies passed Bangaas, fighting Seeqs, and yelling men. Oh this was Christmas to its finest, night of the drunks, long live the wine. Lonely rats eating together to feel worth something when their insides were bare. Hungry for everything but nothing to satisfy such a picky appetite. Guarded souls with nothing to steal but contempt and emptiness. Useless lives and tired feet tracking mud and tears from lost loves and fights. Sad to see such sad creatures fawn over the devils drink when there was nothing to gain but a headache and addiction. The bar had wall to wall inhabitants. It was only twelve and already there had been blood brawls and pucking. The wreaths hung off center on the sconces and it seemed the chandeliers would burst from the pubs rumpus. It smelt of dried vinegar and wine, then of course their was a deep rapacity that was slightly overwhelming as well. Scuffed wooden floors, beaten chairs and stools, everything seemed overused and haggard it made him feel indolent. As if he could just lie on the ground and be trampled to death. Time to place his attentions somewhere else._

_He decided to use his winsome towards some older woman who was half sober and had strawberry colored hair. He didn't need to turn on much of his seduction before she wickedly slapped his ass and offered him a drink. Too easy. As they sat bar he winced after tasting the bars merlot not all wine got better with age. He licked the inside of his mouth bitterly, his face slightly scrunched from disappointment. They lady didn't seem to notice. She began to plunge into this long explanation about how bartenders these days weren't trustworthy. He raised his eyebrows skeptically, could poison be lurking in his glass, it was rather horrid. Lucky he had a couple of Antidotes on him. He was in his own world, not one of the woman's childish syllables coursed through his ears. He remembered to put his chin on automatic, nodding every now and then so he'd look as if he was captivated by her foolishness._

_His eyes began to search frantically around the hell hole for a pair of long ears and snow like hair. She shouldn't be hard to find Vieras were and still are scarce. He spotted her chatting with some young bloke with a hearty laugh. He looked rather confident with his swanker attitude, hair brushing his shoulders, dark it was, his skin a brassy tan. Rather built actually, his muscles and shapely. Large hands. He looked much more ostentatious then Fran. They were on the second floor balcony. The males hand dug into the ligneous railing as if his staunch grip would keep him from filling his puerile wish to touch her. Though he seemed rather optimistic and composed there was something insecure and maladroit about his confidence. Fran had some distant look on her face as if she knew this whole thing was rather idiotic, which it was. _

_Balthier squinted to get a better look. His eyebrows kissing. Wait was macho man actually lifting his arm? More then that he went to touch her hand. The nerve! Fran stoically turned away, a rather cold line resemble her mouth. That was his partner, not even the young and handsome could make her heart feel the slightest flutter. A thousand dove's songs were too silent. Surprising the male didn't seem troubled by this and leaned over with a lascivious aura and whispered in her ear. Balthier braced himself for Fran's fist against the chap's solid jaw. He could see it now, the fellow falling from the balcony onto someone stable which would result in him hushing the whole thing up by paying some fault being money he did not have. _

_Much to his utter shock when she heard his words placed in her tall velvet ears..._

_WAIT A SECOND... was he seeing right...no the glare...such a glare...Fran...did she actually smile? After all he had only one glass of port. This couldn't be happening, in the six months he'd known her the most emotion she showed was a sigh and that was only when he was his most annoying self. No this was false, Fran was phlegmatic and passive and expressionless. It was all wrong. He felt an inch of jealousy slowly creep into his bloodstream and of course that was enough to start the boil. If anyone could make her smile it should be him. I mean he was young but he was comical. For Lord's sake just last night-_

_"Young man I know someone your age may have never seen a Viera before and are astounded by their lack of clothing but it is completely rude when a lady of my ranking expensive galls of wine to gawk at that animal."_

_The next thing that came was uncalled for, yet some alcohol and heavy duty testosterone was all he needed._

_"You are a disgrace." He roared._

_The lady glared with awe at him and began to sniffle._

_Balthier felt awful, she wasn't so old though wrinkles appeared lightly around her mouth and temples. She had lovely strawberry hair and radiant green eyes. Freckles dusting her cheeks._

_"Oh please do not cry, you have such effulgent eyes." Good be charming. This will definitely mitigate the situation. Boy was he wrong._

_"Hey Larry! Some kid made your sister cry."_

_Oh great look what he had done. Larry, some giant slob so drunk and possessed carried a large mallet. Balthier could through a punch but this guy fist was the size of his head. Breath, the leading man is not a afraid, even though he was only 18 and gonna faint. The leading man never dies._

_Giant Larry lifted him by his shirt collar and began to chuckle. His breath smelled of stale whiskey and death. Balthier was gonna puke._

_"Could you please keep your mouth closed your polluting my insides."_

_This so called Larry then decided it would be a splendid idea to spit on his face which he greeted with a smile showing Balthier his decaying teeth._

_"Well boys I don't wanna get my hands dirty so I think I'll let you boys do the job."_

_The bar came to a rather quiet hum when out of his shadows walked twelve plump Seeqs ready to roll with thick daggers in their hands. "Chicken" Balthier muttered under his breath. What now was to become of him his was out numbered. Leading Man never dies. Dear God this is Balthier speaking-_

_"I wonder boys if you could spare a lick, this man has wronged me far too many times."_

_The smoky accent. Syrup words fell out like drugs upon his ears. All too familiar, couldn't be happening but it was. A fool to trust someone he knew none about, she just needed some cash and he was but a poor boy. A runaway. Fran was selling him out to an overgrown baboon and twelve sun burnt pigs, after all they'd been through how could she do this to him? Six whole months. They were almost…friends._

_Giant Larry, ever the classy one bowed his head with a smug leer. "Well malady my boys do take pride in a good lashing but I think for a lady of your caliber I could make some arrangements." His fat stubby fingers crept their way to her bottom, pinching it slowly. His eyes were wide with lust, he licked his lips salaciously. He gave her a toothy grin as if he was lionizing her; he moved his hand gingerly from her ass to her left breast. The malignant bustard took pleasure in the way she shivered. _

_Balthier felt immense execration towards him; he could feel her embarrassment and shame. She didn't move, must be traumatized._

_Larry's sister hide in a corner her eyes wet and face chrisom. Looking so out of place in the jungle of heathens. The men in the bar adulated Larry, how brave to touch a Viera that way, and her just standing there, what power he must have. It was as id he had given her a gift, she should be so lucky, so auspicious to receive his enthrallment. To surrender to his touch._

_Balthier felt sick. His throat itched, his stomach churned. What was she doing? This was not Fran to fall a Damsel and helpless. He had to help her even if she had turned against him. The overgrown ass's attention on the Viera Balthier squeezed out of his grip kneeing the giant in the stomach. _

_"Zing". Her bow right in his privates. Served the scum right._

_The two made a run for the door. Fran the ever brilliant casting float to have them moving quickly across the city. Easily escaping the Seeqs and Giant Larry. Balthier laughed with glee, the two sky pirates had one again! How elating!_

_"I never doubted you, not for a moment, knew you had my back the whole time." He beamed at her as they approached the hotel in the moonlight leaving the drunken heathens far behind._

_Abruptly he hurtled towards the ground tripping on the impact._

_"Um Fran thanks for the warning."Balthier slightly irritated at scuffing his new boots._

_"No problem" The words sounding strange on her lips._

_"I was being sarcastic."_

_"I know."_

_She walked briskly to the hotel, her heels clicking like horse hooves on the unsteady pavement. Something was troubling her, this was evident but he wasn't sure what it was. He took a deep breath. Even after their months in partnership he knew nothing about her accept her name that she hardly spoke and was skillful in combat. But Balthier always confident, gusty, and garrulous figured it never hurt to ask._

_"My dear partner what is troubling you?" Hid finger tips grazing her shoulder blade._

_She wiped around, her long locks smacking his face. "Balthier, I do not know what Hume women are like but us Viera are refined and will not succumb to just any mans touch." Knife eyes, made dark._

_So she was upset about that overgrown grease ball, made sense really, he could hardly grasp the disgust she must have felt. A cage beauty free for all to touch. She hurried up the stairs to their rooms then stopped in front of her door and turned to face him. "If there is nothing more you require of me I shall retire."_

_He sighed and locked his eyes on hers "I'm sorry" was all he could manage. He cared for he so and was so insecure and foolish and afraid about how to consol her. He was still young, what did he know, did she want to be consoled. She nodded her head and then lifted the corner of her mouth into something that could resemble the granddaughter of a smile. Could she know his thoughts? Were they written on his face? She pulled a small box out of her sack of bows and placed it in his hand gently. "Merry Christmas Balthier"._

Lying on the floor he fingered the chain she had given him those years ago. Never lost its luster or its placid warmth that filled his lonely hours. After his remembrance he could feel that all too familiar stupid touched look on his face. Fran blotted his head dutifully at the bleeding spots. Always very good with injuries she was. She repaired bones like she repaired the Stral. Though hearts were a more difficult task. Her eyebrows knit now her fingers light and tender. Dancing like a romance.

"Darling do you remember when I gave you that nightgown?

"Yes". She said plainly continuing to blot his head with a kerchief.

"Well" He said sitting up carefully with a smug smile. "Do you remember what you said to me?" His shinned, sunlike, he looked like such a child Fran observed.

"Humph…I believe I said to you it was nice." She remarked a quizzical look on her face. She seemed slightly befuddled at thee importance of this, she couldn't understand his point. Balthier had that cheeky look on his face, a naughty grin as if he knew something they didn't. Fran had learned to ignore him and give him that rather disinterested look. She had resigned from blotting and now began to construct a bandage, if only his incessant babbling words would cease.

"Do you remember last Christmas you got drunk and walked of a boat to Rabanastre and there I was all cross eyed and full of whiskey. Jumping into the sea trying to save you from drowning while I could hardly swim, while you took off your top and began singing gospels about the wood. Do you remember I tried to kiss you as I was up to my ears in water and you were still sober enough to push me away and called me a slob. I mean we were so drunk we had alcohol coming out of our asses for three straight weeks. I couldn't believe how much you loosened up and trust me I was most certainly appalled at your statement that you would beat me silly if I ever gave you alcohol again. Do you remember that? Are Viera such funny drunks? Because if you Fran-

She then lifted him easily and plopped him back on his large bed, let's rephrase that more like she threw him like he was a sack of potatoes, a bag of non-fragile potatoes at that. She now proceeded to the door. Fran, such an odd name for such a mythical creature. He knew they'd wake early tomorrow but she usually slept three hours at most. Must be the mist, was it close. He spoke knavishly now but with a soft voice, innocent yes, one could observe so "Fran I know its silly but my head is quite miserable do you suppose you could rub?". His pink lips pouted something of a gossamer strawberry. He looked rather coy now but she was one never to be easily fooled she gave him a munificent look her white hair calmed now, angelic once more.

She sat down, a feather, a light zephyr leaked onto his white skin. She ran her fingers through his locks like a mother does to a babe. Elegant and long strokes, enervated fingers twisting his hair, like soft dirt, planter's hands. She soothed his soul like no one else. Platonic and pure and safe feelings on his insides. A scorching pain rushed through his veins to his scalp evaporating like water confusion came. She had grabbed a fistful of his amber curls and began to wring him by his hair. Unbelievable! Using this ledgermaine against him to toss him around by his tresses, for Fran this was awfully absurd. Her showing of feeling was little and strong emotions were dearth. He was moved by this burgeon but not her wild and predominate attitude. Was it the mist? The mist was bad, he knew this, not talk but eyes and he knew and had seen tears of a Viera, worse then a child. Dry mud wishing for water. The worst when it fell like rain. Showers of hot pain, burns wishing for ice. No ice today. She released him now, and looked straight ahead. Robotic and freighting as if something in her died. Their was something dark in her eyes, though her face centered to its nothingness, flat mouth and sleeping cheeks. A rose protected by thorns, she may faint, no that was him. He couldn't understand, she hurt him in trickery and rage and he wasn't the least bit upset just stunned and perplexed. Did they have strong olfactory sense these Viera? Could they smell the mist like a young girl smells a rose, the way a wolf smells his super or was it just affable words so weightless fogging her long ears. Such quiet now, the air was tense yet calm. How long had they been their sitting both terribly compassionate and lonely with sleeping eyes and dying mouths. The room smelt like cactoid mangos and metal, it made ones saliva fall stale.

Balthier rolled his lips into pliable shapes and reached for her hand, heavy soft, she didn't move, limp arms as he pressed his lips on her palm, his nose lying against her cool skin.

"I'm sorry I woke you, please rest, I shall not trouble a mind so full with worries of someone so strong."

She rose slowly a plainly obdurate look on her face. But words did slip through the most minute slit…

"I hope I have not hurt you".

"Trust me when you do I'll let you know." Small smile, teasing her.

"Understood". She nodded. Posture up, the glow of the lights, a doxy she was. The parting as always sleep well.

"Goodnight". The warrior gone in the shadows but escaping the mist. No time for thought the lights were out.

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Next Chapter hits Rabanastre and the party...


	3. Uncomfortable

**Authors Note**: _I'm so sorry to all you guys who have been waiting, my schedule has been hell. I am so grateful for all the comments. My writing style is quite an anomaly and I am fortuitous to have people recognize it. I have to admit that my writing is kind of contradictory. I write like I think and I take interest in anything someone might say for I am still a young writer. Let it be known your comments are always a pleasure to read. My story is going AU from here though there are some similarities that follow that games story._

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III. Uncomfortable

Flying those precious machines were terribly difficult and somewhat awkward unless it had a superb pilot. Someone who flew the skies with the grace of the young and the strength of thee old. Someone who glided with virtuoso and finesse. Someone who engaged in battle while piloting with their toes without fear of a crash and this someone was not Fran. Though her airship skills were better then his own, it seemed the hover bike was not her forte. The only reason he had even suggested the idea was because he took a sleeping potion instead of a sleeping antidote to wake him up. For it was hard to fly even on an incandescent night when one is drugged with sleep and such. He should of just had a cup of black, it seemed to soothe Fran often. Never a big fan of coffee, its flavor like sweetened mud to his palette and the after taste was rather unbearable. She rode with reckless and expeditious speed, a very bad girl indeed but he himself too tired from the sedating potion to scold her or even care. And why should he? Resting his head on her shoulder, his arms around her waist resting on brass thighs. Such a helpless foul he was, overcome a by a puissant want to slumber.

He never really touched her like he did now. Not that it wasn't innocent even brotherly but it wasn't something they did. Touch. They way a hand gropes for a hand and a mouth for a mouth. They way that need needs touch. For to cling just to cling and to feel something beneath youthful fingertips. They didn't touch for they didn't need to. But that seemed to simple for even if they didn't need to they didn't want to touch. Partners are partners. And eyes can speak what hands cannot. And mouths can smile and frown when lips can't speak. And touch was juvenile, a weakness, and rancorous emotions so out of place where they were. A pat on the shoulder to sooth and a squeeze of a hand when one is scared is all the touch that they needed. And once or twice there was more but more was not necessarily better just more and not important often. Perhaps they were too comfortable being comfortable hardly speaking to one another some days, others spoken without so much as a glance. And this was the way it was, they way man doesn't question because it does not perturb him as iniquitous or infinitesimal but because he' satisfied. Perhaps they only find it matters more when it is absent and then present or maybe not. So they didn't touch and it didn't seem to matter.

The exhaustion troubled him, they were on a mission and here he was completely drowsy on her back, unresistent. The motor lulling him, the skies deep purple caress. He felt utterly indolent and a spate of heaviness befell him now. Any minute now he'd be dead weight on her spine and leave a pool of drool on her baby shoulder. His eyes twitched rapidly to stay open, his head bobbed slightly. About to fall into dreamland, damn that sleeping potion. Stars, Thousands of unforgiving eyes, safety for a child's sleep. A sheet of wind, familiar measures in the night. Soft smells for the prince and his duchess as they fly away.

_Baby's breath upon a cheek_

_To sooth a peasants lingering sleep_

_Love for me the things I do _

_A lover's song I sing to you_

_Of lips that kiss_

_Thee eyes that cry_

_Never shall I die, what is goodbye?_

_A lullaby for one so pure your sleepless nights my tune will cure_

"_Now can my child sleep?"_

His mother had come back, strange to think of her now. Strange to reminisce and remember words of songs thought to be lost. A largess woman she was. Sweet peach hair and his nose. Eyes closing goodnight mom.

And then change. A knowing of consciousness.

"Can you tell me a story?" Slurred words on sagging lips.

"Balthier if you are tired you can sleep."

Knew him to well. A thousand little thankyous from his limp body but no.

"Fran darling who am I?" It wasn't a question and they both knew it but she new he'd be delighted if she answered it.

And here she thought she'd have a peaceful evening just her and the stars. Nature still rung in her ears. The mother loves you child of the wood. Come to my arms, be lost no longer. Love us as we love you, forgive us as we forgive you. The voices never stopped. Leave me alone but love me still she pleaded. To get lost in the earths beauty was to indulge and that was a crime. To drink up wine like a glass of water. Such a thirst for something so pure and fragile. So rich it was but the sacrifice meant something, something important like the way thunder must clap and the deaf can know it's there, heavy to know, it was something wasn't it? So hard to try to understand what was o.k. even harder to want it inside when it's better out. One coming from such abstinence lovely cages with fresh fruit and no atrocities. A safe place and so heinous it was. Oh be in the presence of my love but do not scold me for my secrets. To keep them is most unbearable, harder then you know. Such speech sententious but awfully useless and unkind. To see such secrets stroll through ones head like a place where rain does never cease. So tiring. When will the moon come? It must come.

That chocolate voice. Simple. "Fran you cannot daydream for you shall crash and you know how my hair gets." Such prudish seriousness.

Always a remark like that. She pretended to belittle his humor but in such a tiny corner lay her passionate love for his jestings and his unrivaled cockiness. Could she almost envy his ways wishing somewhere in the lacking of mind she could have something likeable or was it just an amusement. No need to be utterly complex, she a Viera knew it was purely dry amusement. The truth or untruth of the matter was ever since she met him on the rather ugly day she couldn't be sure.

She felt her shoulders gauzy wetness. She did have a remedy in her pocket but their was something mesmerizing about his mindless exhaustion. Except possibly his baby drooling. That left a lot to be desired.

The vehicle sped up and woke Balthier who then became rather occupied with choking on his spit, rather unattractive it was.

"Woman" He spluttered his lips rather puffy yet thin. "I…I, I, wait I minute lost the thought…hmm…oh yes, I told you to keep me up and here you are in La La Land, though a very cute and hospitable place not currently when where you should be residing in, honestly Fran can't Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah, I mean really Blah Blah Blah……………………………………………………….".

Sometimes that was all she heard. Continuous syllables drowned out by anything. Fran had always been very good at not listening. On could say it was her forte maybe not necessarily not listening but tuning Humes out. The remedy burned like a little devil in her pouch like when things hurt. Her lips felt teased, the wind was not forgiving. Listen to my words love thee for who thy is must be without you. The wind did talk back but its song was rough and unpleasing.

Not long before they reached the palace, both decided it best to take the hover bike lees noticeable which she preferred whether he respected it or not. Such a lovely friend though, always for trust and comfort even still a child but he was a brave one, he had tried to help her. And from the moment she looked into his lovely ostentatious eyes she knew she would die for him .It would be a good death to die. For birds know how to fly they way fingers can find fingers and they way she knew an accepted she would die for him and how proud and worthy it made her feel. And so unafraid and so human. A hint of bliss crossed her eyes, heavenly and content. And her body relaxed. Such warmth now.

"Fran are you listening to me at all?"

If only it matter she thought feeling annoyed fro no apparent reason.

"I do not ignore your words." Slightly cold, can such heat disappear like ghosts? She handed him the remedy without turning to face him.

He drank it with greed, a sybarite with great savoir faire. No need to use speech to rectify their own pleasures.

His sniffled it was freezing now and he wasn't a big fan of coats, apparently neither was Fran. To distract him self from the rather miserable temperature he thought he'd whistle but then thought better of it. Though Fran's scowl was adorably cross he wasn't in such a playful mood.

"I keep forgetting to tell you your shampoo smells divine. Rather intoxicating, I think it must have contributed to my lush sleep. Roses and rain. I jest. Rather cuddly isn't it Fran, right out of a fairytale we are."

He derided. His accent seemed rather strong and it made slightly bothered. Fran's hair whipped him harsh like a child as they but she didn't seem to notice. He might have said a word but they never talked much and it seemed he'd feel more comfortable talking within himself.

Her waist seemed rather small tonight. When was the last time he saw her eat? Strange they never liked to eat in front of each other but then not so strange. He looked forward to a nice punch in the side when he pinched it like a schoolboy, lecherous and silly. But not now, it was always so much better to play these little games when she was totally distracted. You never know the power of sky pirate telepathy. There bottom was, hard not to loom out. So richly round and plump, so kissable and soft. As if it was made of the same creamy velvet as those ears. He had only touched them twice but remembered how they felt soft tender and sweet beneath his fingertips. Yet bottom was such a fine color. It looked like eggplant at night, chocolate covered berries and that little golden leaf. Rather precious she was. Yet he was suddenly filled with solicitous defeat. She was so unreasonable in her outfitting. It bothered him so sometimes so that he shock with rage, she was such a beauty to look and with those long thin legs and girlish mouth, an absolute kalon but she didn't need her keister to be hanging out for lords sake. I mean Viera were old fashioned but certainly not indigenous people running around the Giza with dart guns. It bothered him a hell of a lot. He could smack something really. It made him feel hostile. She didn't like to be regarded as a hetaera yet her lovelies were hanging out. He knew the feeling to look at an angel with an unconscious leer and hidden amatory. A man cannot help but deify a drop dead gorgeous stag; he knew this for if the circumstances for their first encounter were different he may have done the same to her. Now in his despotic mood he felt such strong emotions for her and couldn't live to see her hurt or deeply disturbed. He couldn't help it. She was the careful one and him the grandiloquent leading man. He took a large itchy breath. His must relax and not get to wound up and stimulated by this, he'd make himself sick with worry. He had a queasy vulnerable look on his face now and one might have thought him a sickly beauty. His head began to quiver slightly from concentration. It became clear she may have caused him a wrinkle.

They didn't often talk serious. It felt awfully uncomfortable and unnecessary even for partner so tenderly attached. It worried him horribly. Did she have the slightest idea she was his only one? Did she know that he felt she was his? His family. The only woman with a refined taste for tea, a woman who never smiled at his jokes or wore make-up. Who didn't mind his height? And while all women detested his promiscuous tendencies she seemed to find a charming foolishness in it. Someone with a remarkable excellence for air mechanics without ever flying an airship. He couldn't believe his eyes when she slid under the engine, her svelte body working with ease. Her glossy muscles so tough and guarded, he couldn't believe his young eyes. He wanted to squeeze her arm childishly to congratulate her or something. When he first met her he was well…he'd rather not say, it made him slightly shy and hot around his neck. To think of it made him sweat so he began to muse with his former ramblings.

Yes such a bond they had, completely one, glued puzzle pieces, the snap of the fit. So tight and so loose, roots twisted in the dirt deep and dirty and strong as bonds should be. Low, to the essential. Where everything begins and ends for these two. Sutured by fate, conjoined by destiny. One, coalesced, hands holding hearts and eyes. His best friend. Best friends. Did she think the same? She must. The best of friends. Ones who call themselves partners but are companions surreptitiously. The way tales tell of friends. The kind who may grow distant with time but not with heart. He didn't have to tell her now or ask her what she thought. His insecurities thought juvenile. She will not and cannot say but knows and feels the same way. Sky pirate telepathy.

No more talk it couldn't be right. The old silence of veneration filled with understanding. The night felt awkward. Uncomfortable and inquisitive its eyes locked upon two who wrote their own stories with open minds, so afraid of living without reckless peril and teetering escapades. The night searched for the moon, jealous and unsure, wanting to be like the two who belonged.

"You know you have a lump of mush on your shoulder." Some jovial ashen blond, dirty cheeks and an overused mouth. Such an incorrigible boy he was. What a waste of space.

Fran didn't seem bothered to busy with the vehicle. It was crowded on that motorbike and Balthier's bottom began to itch. He wiped Fran's shoulder with the back of his sleeve. A long journey. He felt his man underlings get caught in a twist which made him feel quite contempt for a long ride with a "wedgie" never seemed wise or appetizing.

The way he looked at her was peculiarly familiar to him. The loquacious mouth silenced by wonder and ignorant surprise, as if he were observing her to determine what secrets lied behind her stolid glance and plain lips and maybe he was wrong. Maybe all the boy wanted to descry was if this magical being was real. The looks of interest and confusion did not bother him, invidiousness never came easy. Many a person would look with lasciviousness and thick consternation and it would be as if they were merely dull house flies and he was the cat who would rather yawn at their naked eagerness of uncertainty then be affected by mere buzzes. In all honesty he didn't worry about her, well maybe that wasn't totally honest but usually he kept himself aplomb repeating to himself that she could take care of him self which she most certainly could, sometimes so well it was frightening. It had been decided unless asked help was never needed, unless one is unconscious and in the middle of a dessert, which literally happened more then one could possibly imagine.

The water was fast now wanted kithe its existence Balthier tried to remember the last time he was here but it had ran to fast for him to catch. Like the shooting stars. And their was the little thief still gawking on at the goddess with his very large eyes filled with doubting respect. So fixated he was and Fran's innocuous boredom clear the way her mouth peaked lazily. He could really deride at this sight or paint a picture. How funny! And there was the cadence of the water, his mother's poems gauzy and heavy in his head. Pliant evil honey clouded his mind. He might fall. It wouldn't the first time. The waters rolling ossified him, clear and hard the slapping of it. His nose turned up oddly now with a proponent air. As if to scowl at the water. To make himself seem strong and unrivaled. It continued to poor. Wish it would stop. Why did he feel this execration and incalculable belligerence at the water? The noise was not kind. Was it his weak head that made the disturbance so futile?

Flashes of him on the ground in his bedroom.

In the mourning they didn't talk of the nights going ons. Just thee accepted silence and the spouting of nothing of dire importance. But now that he thinks of it maybe they should have. The mist or something made her loose, completely loose. Her ugly mouth and red eyes! Yes it had enthralled him but it was not her, yet it irritated him that he was imprudent about this. And though he had an alacrity to know if she was hiding something he felt rather calm. Almost as if it was rather obvious that eventually she'd tell him all that was hidden. Or maybe she knew less then he for she did look awfully shocked and pensive. Perhaps it did not matter. No perhaps it didn't.

And there was the rascal his eyes lacking shyness and his mouth roughhewn. Balthier wondered how long it would take for her to get uncomfortable.

A long time, best to intervene old friend.

"Now hear me out child, I know Rabanastre isn't the classiest place, and believe me, I recognize your blind as bat but the fairy tale is true my boy, Vieras walk among us."

Fran smirked wickedly now as she led the way through the maze of sewage. Balthier was glad; he always liked his woman in the front, even if he was the leading man.

Vaan followed them suspiciously. Eyes squinting slightly, almost tripping on the cobbles. He tried not to stare at Fran's denuded behind but it was hard. Really hard. He huffed loudly, Sky Pirates. He made a list of questions he would ask when the two were…what's that word more friendly with him.

Where do Vieras come from? (Probably the dessert he thought ingeniously, for their skimpy clothing).

What does it mean to be "partners"?

"Boy stop muttering to yourself, I fear you will combust"

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**Authors Follow Up**: _Next I will make much longer chapters delving into Balthiers new fascination with a certain princess, the partners annoyance of traveling with a pack, and next to come the meeting of the two and trust me it is not one of those lets have a drink at the bar together. This is a Balthier and Fran fiction (whatever that may mean) yet there will be more obstacles then they could imagine._


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